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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927575">why don't we crash and burn tonight?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mesatrafficlights/pseuds/mesatrafficlights'>mesatrafficlights</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other, ghoul is also tired and sad, i had to remedy it ok, idiots babbling in love they say like two coherent things, it starts sad but it's not sad i promise, no one ever writes poison pining they always write ghoul pining, poison is Not Drunk and sad, this entire fic is just the hand holding flex scene from pride and prejudice x 1000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:07:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,721</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927575</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mesatrafficlights/pseuds/mesatrafficlights</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Poison didn’t quite expect that reaction, of all the possibilities. They laugh quietly, incredulously, and forget exactly how to breathe. Ghoul’s looking at them like they’re a bonfire on a cold night and he looks so very soft, so pastel and beautiful that they’re not quite sure they’ll ever remember how to breathe again."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>why don't we crash and burn tonight?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798042">turn off the lights (your makeup stains my pillowcase)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx">Pidonyx</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>oh shit i should also probably say that this is inspired by Pidonyx's 'turn off the lights (your makeup stains my pillowcase)' and KilltheDJ's 'and if it's alright with you, i'd really like to stay the night', which are two lovely gorgeous interpretations of an idea but they're both fuckign sad, so i figured someone needed to write something happy. </p><p>i wrote this instead of the two overdue papers that i haven't started. blease fuckign like it if i'm going to fail school at least give me validation</p><p>also i'm ace ok idfk how to write people making out all i do is write soft touches intimacy laughter eat hot chip and lie</p><p>title from sleeping with sirens, go go go. obviously. hang out with me @mesatrafficlights on tumblr i'm tired okay tell me to write my english paper.<br/>like no, seriously. i'm lonely. i'll write u stuff if u do.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Poison went out tonight. They do that sometimes. Went out to the fringes where Battery City meets the zones. Knocked back too much bootleg liquor and decided to deal with the regrets later, picked up another embittered ‘joy who called them him and shoved them up against the club’s bathroom wall and left red lipstick stains on their lips and neck and hips. Got into a fight. Bruised their knuckles, didn’t remember how.<br/>
They left, eventually, skin crawling with vague discomfort they couldn’t quite place as they stumbled into the trans-am and swerved their way home. It was commendable that they even made it back to the diner, in all honesty; they drove fast, head leaning on the steering wheel and barely looking up to steer.</p><p>This is the part they hate the most about these nights; coming back. They make their way into the doorway, leaning against the frame for support, and realize that they didn’t do shit. They still have all the bad decisions knit into them, all the emotions they want to burn stuck inside of them. It’s worse when Ghoul’s still up. He always is. He always waits for Poison on these nights, curled up in a corner of one of the booths in the diner and messing with Destroya knows what kind of explosive or dangerous device.</p><p>He’s there now, as Poison stumbles in, and Poison hates the routine they have of “pretend you didn’t notice him pretending not to notice you coming in” and “slur something affectionate (but not too affectionate, you can’t let on just how much affection you really have)”, and they’re just hazed enough to think “what the hell, why not,” and slide clumsily into the booth, opposite Ghoul.</p><p>Ghoul looks up from his circuitry with a flinch, and hm, maybe he really just didn’t notice Poison there. ‘S not like that’s gonna stop them now, though, cause really, the decision’s already been made, and they’re not one to do anything halfway. They’re gonna be fucked sometime anyway, so why not now?</p><p>They blow a strand of hair out of their face with a soft huff and hesitantly look up, make fragile eye contact with Ghoul. It shouldn’t feel so disarming, but they can’t shake the feeling that he can see right through them, peel back all the layers of anger and scar tissue and false confidence at a glance. They aren’t used to being vulnerable. Somewhere in the back of their mind they think, “fuck, this would be a lot easier with another bottle of moonshine.” They don’t say that, though.</p><p>Instead, they bite the inside of their lip for a moment and then look up again. The tension is there, stifling both them and Ghoul, and they can feel it, but they still don’t trust themself quite enough to speak.</p><p>They better get on with it.</p><p>“You waited up.” It’s less of a statement than a tentative question. Poison hates how shaky their voice sounds. Ghoul probably thinks they’re drunk outta their mind. They don’t want to remember all the breathy, mostly-serious, barely-joking things they’ve slurred to Ghoul when they were sloshed.</p><p>Ghoul’s hands freeze. He’s right in the middle of snipping some orange wire but he doesn’t move for a moment.</p><p>He scratches his ear and decisively cuts the wire. “Yeah.”</p><p>Poison resumes worrying their bottom lip. The thought vaguely crosses their mind that they should get a lip ring, it would probably hurt less. “Why?” Another cautious question. They don’t know what they’re trying to accomplish here, but damned if they won’t find out.</p><p>Ghoul tenses a bit, almost imperceptibly. He shrugs with one shoulder and keeps his eyes fixed on whatever he’s making. “Why not?” He huffs in what could almost, just barely be the hint of a bitter laugh.</p><p>They don’t really know what to say, for once. There’s so many things they’d like to say, but their head’s harboring a vendetta against them or something, because the diner ceiling is spinning above them in a dizzy haze. They’re unreasonably tired and falling into that hazy, foggy surreal state of mind, but they’re still all there. They’re used to it by now. It chases away the last bits of filter they have, but that’s about it.</p><p>“M’sorry.” The words hang in the air, buoyed up by the tension.</p><p>Ghoul huffs again, equal parts amusement and something else. “Thas’ what you always say.” He looks up for a second, meeting Poison’s eyes, and then down again just as quickly. Poison never knew eye contact could hurt so much.</p><p>“You got lipstick on your shirt, Poison. ‘S’late. You gotta sleep it off.” Poison’s damned if they’re going to let this night end like this. Like it always does.</p><p>“’F’r real. M’sorry. You shouldn’t. Shouldn’t wait up for me.” They don’t even really know what they’re saying at this point.</p><p>Some sort of half-smile crosses Ghoul’s face. “But I do. Whatyagonnado, fight me ‘bout it?”</p><p>Poison tries to smile too, but it doesn’t come out right. “Y’know, I hate doin’ this. Goin’ out, I mean. Dunno why I do it. Just’.. destructive, I guess. Only good part’s comin’ back. Comin’ back hurts just’ as much, though. I come in and I remember why I went out in the firs’ place.” Every fucking brain cell that they haven’t killed by now is screaming at them to stop, stop talking, drop it and go to bed and cry.</p><p>“So why do you?” Ghoul’s voice is soft, impossibly quiet as he asks, not nearly as mocking or disinterested as Poison thought he would be.</p><p>Why the hell not. They’re gonna crash and burn sometime soon anyway. Why not right now? They lean back, lacing their fingers together behind their head. Might as well die with false bravado.</p><p>“Well, ya see, there’s.. There’s this rat I know who’s pretty shiny.” They laugh quietly. As if a single worn-out adjective could even begin to encapsulate just the way Ghoul’s silver bracelets clink together when he reaches up to push his hair behind his ear. They would write an infinite number of songs about it, if they could. “Yeah. He’s shiny, alright. Somewhere along the line, I just.. He- I got kinda pastel. For him. Head over heels, n’all that jazz.” They kept their eyes fixed on the peeling Formica tabletop. “So he’s shiny. More than shiny. I’d punch Destroya himself in the face if he wanted me to. Live in one of those sunset suburbias with a blue car in the driveway, like people used to, if we could.” They exhale and tip their head against the fake red leather of the booth cushion, staring at the ceiling cracks. Not at Ghoul. Definitely not at Ghoul. Poison hates every decision they’ve ever made.</p><p>“So, yeah. But the prob- the problem is that, um, I don’t. Don’t think he’d like that very much. Don’t really think he’s as gone for me as I am for him.” Poison rubs their nose, tries to get rid of the burning, choking feeling in their throat. They take a long breath and a moment to regain their composure, as well as they can. They definitely don’t think about how they’re almost certainly alienating the one person they care about most. (Other than Kobra and Jet and the Girl, of course. But they don’t really count right now.)</p><p>The adrenaline fades real quick. They mutter a last sentence quickly and shrug. “So yeah, sometimes I go out and I try to forget. Thas’ it.” They stand up too fast and the blood rushes to their head like static. They don’t really care though, they’re used to being dizzy and at least they can’t see Ghoul’s face. They really, really don’t want to see his reaction. Disgusted, maybe. A little pity.</p><p>They turn to leave and they almost make it, but they’re stopped. Ghoul has a hand out and he’s holding on to the hem of Party’s jacket, tightly, preventing them from moving.<br/>
Party rubs their eyes (when did they get so wet? they weren’t crying, were they?) and sighs. “M’sorry, Ghoulie. ‘S’late. Sorry for keeping you up. Just... forget that.”</p><p>Ghoul’s voice is soft again, so incongruously gentle that it’s almost ridiculous, that someone with so many scars and piercings, who makes bombs for a living, for the Witch’s sake, whose vocabulary consists almost solely of four-letter words and trash talking, could talk like that. “Wait- hey, Poison, one sec.”</p><p>Poison doesn’t want to, but they do. It’s the damn voice. They carefully sit back down on the bench, eyes still fixed on the chipping Formica.</p><p>“Never told ya could leave, come the fuck back here and sit down.” He doesn’t sound angry. Poison doesn’t quite know where to place how they sound, but definitely not angry. Angry Ghoul is.. unmistakable. Poison decides that hell, this night has gone to shit and back already, and what the fuck else could he do to ruin it? They look up again, hesitantly.</p><p>They’d never noticed how damn small the tables were until now, but they’re fucking small.. And Ghoul’s right on the opposite side of the table. And Ghoul is also small. Ghoul is a hell of a lot prettier than a shitty diner table, though. His hair’s haphazardly tied back (there’s more hair out of the hairband, or rubber band, more likely, than in it) and there’s still smudges of grease and smoke on his face. They want to pull the rubber band out and see his hair fall gently around his face and on his shoulders, see if it feels as soft and tangled as it looks. They want to kiss the engine oil off his face.His eyes are soft, too, and it makes Poison want to sob a little, how soft and searching they are.</p><p>“Hey, fuck, stop crying, you asshole, c’mon.” Is Poison crying? That’s terribly off-brand. They’re too mixed-up to really care right now, though, and whatever remnants of coherent thought are left in their brain scatter and turn into lava lamps, because, fuck, fuck, Ghoul’s reaching across the shitty Formica tabletop and tentatively brushing the tear trails-they’re crying? they still can’t believe they’re crying. They don’t do that.-from their face, and his fingertips are rough and calloused and warm. Maybe they lean into the touch a bit, sue them, it’s not like they can help themself. You only live once, right? Anyway, they’re about 90% convinced this is all just some sick hallucination and someone at the club drugged them, because somehow Ghoul’s gently holding their face, palm pressed against their cheek, thumb along their cheekbone, carefully rubbing the tear stains and smeared eyeliner away. They can feel his pulse stuttering under his skin; it’s erratic and far too quick, and his wrist is so close to Poison that if they leaned forward just a bit they could press their lips to the scarred skin there, feel his heartbeat on their mouth. The thought feels too intimate, and it takes their breath away for a second.</p><p>They feel dizzy, like they’re falling or flying or something, and Ghoul’s hand pressed carefully to their face is the only thing that’s steady. As they try to catch their breath, Ghoul hesitates, hair falling back in his face. Poison still wants to brush it away.</p><p>“Hey, Poison.” Fuck, he’s talking so quietly, like he’s scared too that this is all just some Ritalin dream, like he doesn’t want to break the breathless lava-lamp feeling either. His eyes are dark, and they usually are, but now they’re wide and blown and Poison thinks they could probably drown in them, no problem. “Poison. You- Are you drunk, or anything?”</p><p>They didn’t know what they were expecting, to be honest. Not a goddamn flowery pastel love confession, or something. But dammit, he’d looked at them so, so softly, and his fingers were so light on their jaw that they’d let themself, for a moment, believe in this impossible best-case scenario. It was all wrong, of course. Ghoul thought this was just another of their late-night, drunk ramblings, and he was perfectly, perfectly justified. He always would be. It still hurts, though. They tear themself away from his hand with a vicious jerk and stand up. The venom is directed at themself, of course, but Ghoul would never know that. They stand up too quickly and their knees give way for a second, just from the rush of blood to their head, but hey, it makes the drunk narrative even better. Fat chance. They blow that out of the water with the next words from their mouth.</p><p>“Nope. ‘M’not. Only had two beers. Sorry to disappoint.” They turn, trying to make it out the door before Ghoul can stop them again. He’s trying to say something, telling him to stop, but Poison doesn’t listen. It works, and they can’t pretend they’re not just a little bit disappointed. They fall back against the diner wall with a quiet thump, head tilting up to absently look at the night sky. They reach up absentmindedly to rub their eyes, and stop when they realize their hand is covering the spot where Ghoul’s hand was. Fuck. They’re screwed. The choking burning feeling forces its way up their throat again, and now they can, indeed, feel something stinging their eyes, blurring their vision until the stars all melt into one hazy, wet blanket of light and dark patches. Screw their reputation. They slide down the wall, head on their knees and try to cuss out the stars, the Phoenix Witch, anything that’s out there. It doesn’t work though, and they know it won’t. They’ve tried to fill up that hole with anger and drugs and drink before, and they know from experience it won’t fill, so instead they settle for choked, strangled sobs, partially muffled by their jacket and their hands.</p><p>They hear a door opening beside them. Shit. They’d thought he’d at least have had the decency to be embarrassed or awkward and leave them alone. They hear footsteps crunching in the sand next to him, and they bury their head even harder in their knees, arms wound tight around them. They hear Ghoul sit down or something by them, and they flinch. “Fuck off.”</p><p>Ghoul doesn’t, in fact, fuck off. He doesn’t do that a lot. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but Poison would bet whatever you wanted that he’s debating over what to do. Finally he starts talking, and his voice is rough, rougher than it was, but still so very soft, and Poison can’t not think that it sounds like he was crying too, or at least on the verge.</p><p>“I- Fuck, Poison, I just, I didn’t want to kiss someone who was drunk. I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t want you to do anything you’d regret later, I-” Poison freezes. Again, they consider the possibility of this all being an extremely complex and horrible hallucination or dream. Knowing them, it probably is. Maybe Ghoul’s just, dunno, being an asshole. They hope he isn’t. They really, really, hope he isn’t. Hell, there’s only one way to find out.</p><p>They slowly lift their head up, make a face as their eyes adjust to the dark and the little bright spots dance in front of them for a second.</p><p>And really, they are gone. So ridiculously gone that if Ghoul’s just playing them, they don’t have the faintest clue what they’d end up doing. Because Ghoul’s sitting there, cross-legged next to them in the sand, drawing worried patterns in it, and the almost-full moon is illuminating all his shadows and scars and emotions, and his fucking hair is still in his face. Their chest aches from their fondness and they really, really just want nothing more from life than to just lazily run their fingers through his hair and trace the scars that twist around his skin and leave soft, comfortable kisses on the corner of his mouth. He’s looking at them hesitantly, like he’s afraid maybe he’s the one that fucked up, and not Poison. Poison can’t have that happening. Somehow they manage to consolidate their brain enough to form words.</p><p>“..M’not drunk.” They look at Ghoul warily, trying to gauge his possible reactions.</p><p>Ghoul rubs the back of his neck, meets Poison’s eyes again, hesitantly. He should really stop doing that, if he wants Poison to, y’know, attain any semblance of functionality. “So, um. Does- can I actually- Could I kiss you, then? If, if you don’t mind?”</p><p>Poison didn’t quite expect that reaction, of all the possibilities. They laugh quietly, incredulously, and forget exactly how to breathe. Ghoul’s looking at them like they’re a bonfire on a cold night and he looks so very soft, so pastel and beautiful that they’re not quite sure they’ll ever remember how to breathe again.</p><p>They laugh again, breathy and quiet. “Y-Yeah. Anytime ya want.”</p><p>There’s still some cynical part of them that doesn’t really believe any of it’s true, that thinks this is all some surreal dream that’ll melt away at the slightest touch. They’re still thinking this when Ghoul leans over and kisses them, and their thoughts dissolve into bright lava lamp blobs again, because he’s so gentle, so hesitant that it’s almost not Ghoul, because Ghoul’s always passionate and enthusiastic and violent. He brings a hand up to their face, and the desert night is cold, but his fingers are warm, and they can feel his pulse again, quick and irregular.</p><p>Ghoul pulls away first, slow and reluctant, and Poison would never in a million lifetimes live down the small, needy noise in the back of their throat that they let out. Ghoul’s looking at them, a breathless smile making its way across his face. He’s still cradling Poison’s face in one hand, and the other somehow made its way to the back of their neck, fingers tangled in the roots of their hair. Poison mirrors his dazed smile, brings their hand up to meet Ghoul’s like they can’t really believe it’s there.</p><p>They break the silence first. “Hi, then.” They want to say something better, something about how he’s more brilliant and beautiful than a meteor shower in May, how he’s their sunshine and their moonlight, how the light behind his eyes makes them happy they’re still breathing. Their brain is still short-circuited though, and all that’s there is the running loop of “he-kissed-me-fuck-he-wants-to-kiss-me-fuck” and the feeling at the back of their head that maybe this wasn’t such a bad decision after all.</p><p>Ghoul laughs again, and it’s still incredulous but it’s ecstatic, and his lips are red and his face is glowing. “Hi your-fucking-self, asshole. Y’know, ya coulda, just, told me or somethin’, huh?” His voice is fond, and Poison can’t look away.</p><p>They shrug. “Coulda.” They shift so that they’re sitting facing Ghoul and bring a hand up behind him, pulling his, frankly, useless rubber band hairband out. It’s as satisfying as they thought it would be, and they grin delightedly at the sight of Ghoul with messy tangled hair falling over his shoulders, reflecting the starlight. “Probably should have, we’d be doin’ this a lot sooner.”</p><p>Ghoul hums in agreement. Poison never noticed the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles. It’s wonderful. They want to lean forward and kiss him ‘til he’s as breathless and dizzy as they are, and it’s absolutely crazy that they can. They do.</p><p>The angle is weird at best; their knees bump into each other and there’s still a very annoying gap between them, but Poison has a hand in Ghoul’s hair (turns out it’s almost as soft as his smile, and an absolute fucking mess, they’ll have to have Jet do something about it), and he tastes like energy drinks and engine oil (Poison thinks it’s the best thing in the world), and really, it’s perfect.</p><p>They’re both breathless and dizzy now, when they break apart, and Poison is almost sitting in Ghoul’s lap, arm tight around his waist, one hand at the junction of shirt and skin and the other tangled in his hair. They laugh again (when’s the last time they’ve laughed so much?) and bury their face in his shoulder. He’s wearing his disgusting ratty jean jacket that hasn’t been washed in years and it smells like oil and smoke. They could fall asleep there. They’d be perfectly happy to fall asleep there forever. They absentmindedly try to muffle a yawn (to be fair, it is terribly late, even if they were just making out with the love of their life in some impossible pastel dream scenario).</p><p>“Oh my gods.” Their voice is muffled by the layers of fabric, and by the fact that they’re speaking with their lips almost pressed to Ghoul’s neck. “You.. What the hell. I could have- I could have jus’ told you, like, two years ago, then. How did you.. That’s ridiculous. I fucking love you, you know that? That’s so, gods, that’s embarrassing, I bet Kobra knew. I bet, I bet the frickin’ Girl knew. Why the hell did I get left out of the loving-Ghoul party?” Poison feels Ghoul shrug. He huffs, a little puff of amused breath.</p><p>“Long time, really, thought you knew.’ Poison raises their face to frown at him.</p><p>“No, I didn’t fuckin’ know, asshole!” They shift to look at him. “I fuckin’, gods.” They did intend to be righteously indignant at him, but really, they can’t. They take Ghoul’s hand, covered in scars and jewelry and sharpie drawings, and gently turn it over. Poison can see the ghostly tracing of his veins in the starlight and they for a second they run their fingers over them, following the branching patterns, and then they raise his hand to their lips. They can feel his heartbeat fluttering at his wrist, feel the tiny shiver that runs down him as they touch the sensitive skin. They press a slow, lingering kiss there, and look up. “Love you.”</p><p>Ghoul stares at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, uh, same. You. I-Fuck. Love you too." </p><p>Poison's not really used to making non-shitty decisions. But they look at Ghoul smiling at them in the moonlight and figure maybe, just <em>maybe</em> this was a good idea.</p>
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